Snatched
by Snow Cold Lily
Summary: Samara Lynch had traveled for three years, and upon her return to England, she is met with the grave news of the Dark Lord's rising. Staying out of trouble is not her strong side, especially when a group of Snatchers marks her as a target. One particular Snatcher, however,takes his job a little too seriously and things take a turn for the worse, for the both of them.
1. Pursuit

Yay! My first Harry Potter fanfiction, featuring the dashing Snatcher, Scabiour, and my international witch OC Samara Lynch. I don't really have much of a plan for the story, but if it the will of the readers, I might continue writing. Currently, i have 3 complete chapters. Anyways, enjoy! And do tell me if you like it or not.

Warning! Spoilers! (just a little)

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, just Samara Lynch

* * *

Chapter 1

**Pursuit**

There were dark times in the wizard world. The Ministry of Magic had fallen into the grasps of Lord Voldemor and his followers of Death Eaters and Snatchers, cleansing the land for mudbloods and conspirators who plotted against the new rulers. This was well known among all the wizards and witches now residing within the British border, including Samara Lynch, Sam for short, who had been traveling Europe the past three years and had returned a month prior to the new government that arrived and spread terror and holocaust across the land.

Sam was a thin, if a bit short, young woman in her early twenties, with long messy brown hair, mostly due to the traveling and lack of a proper hairbrush, and green-bluish eyes. She had a square strong jaw and cheeks that still lingered with her teenage years but would be considered quite pretty by normal standards.

Samara had thought of returning to London where she had used to live up till leaving for a journey to find her thrill and adventure. There had also been an increased hunger for knowledge about foreign magic, and eagerly had taken all wise words and lessons close to heart from the people whom she had spent her time with. 'Dumbledore would have loved to teach his students about the things that I have studied,' Sam had thought excitedly upon her return, and had even gone to length to apply for a new teacher's position at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, introducing a new subject: "Studies of Foreign Magic". This dream had been crushed to dust as her former headmaster had been murdered and the school taken over by the Ministry. That was all the information she had as she, at the moment, still lived in the inhabited forests of Britain.

Sam had not returned to London, not risking trouble though she probably had nothing to fear as she was no mudblood. Then again, she had been away for three years with no notice of changed address or anything. The ministry must have wondered where she had gone and why she unofficially had taken her leave of absence upon finishing school. People might even think she plotted something.

Very used to living in the wilds, Sam had no problems being by herself and she had everything she needed in her backpack, which was bewitched to room more than it betrayed. Everything from provisions to tents, sleeping bags and her many books she had been given on her travels and most secret notes of magic from both old and new, cauldrons, plates and cutlery of the like, clap together furniture and much more. She travelled light.

Now she was on the run. Running would be the more exact word as Sam, light on her feet, dashed through the forest, leaping over fallen logs, diving out of the way from red sparks, that for the most part connected with trees and leaving scorched marks. She plunged through thorny bushes and occasionally, if the opportunity represented itself, would try to throw a spell or two in return to the pursuing part of Snatchers.

Samara glanced back to see her pursuers, throwing her hand backwards and shouted a distinct "_stupefy_!" and heard it connect as a body fell to the leafy ground and roll slightly downhill which they now were mounting and the grounds becoming steeper and increasingly treacherous. Sam thought it a good idea to choose this direction, as she with her short legs could not outrun the full-grown and considerably taller Snatchers, and therefore had decided to run uphill where she had advantage in her short stature, and her legs sprinted and the gap between her and the Snatchers widened.

Years on the road ad given her stamina she didn't think possible, not by her standards and lung capacity upon the time she left. A Magical Art school in China had beaten quite the stamina into her untrained body.

Sam grinned and twirled around, pointing her finger at the closest pursuer, shouting _"Tarantallegra!"_ and watched for a moment as a stout snatcher's legs started dancing uncontrollably, before bolting uphill again, roaring with laughter.

Sam knew she shouldn't take such risk, and rather knock them out cold. But as she so many times before have seen both mortal peril and other dangers straight in the eyes, Samara had gotten used to the idea of making the darkest moments of one's life durable with witty spells and no intentions of stopping. Once the _tarantallegra_ spell had worn off however, the victim would be too exhausted to pursue her anyways.

The Snatchers shouted furiously, directed both at her and their fallen comrades, frozen, knocked out or dancing. They cursed under their ragged breaths, no, not a silent curse, and increased their spell casting. Sam ducked as the whizzing sound closed inn, barely missing her by an inch. She had rounded the hilltop, now continuing straight forward deep into the wilds where the growth began to thicken and lowering her chances of being jinxed.

Spells and charms whipped about in her head as she tried to find a fitting one for such an occasion. A smile crept over her lips and she changed direction so quickly the snatchers lost sight of her. She tapped her forehead three times and muttered a spell she had learned in Transylvania and stood with her back to a thick trunk, waiting.

The pursuers whipped past, returned and looked about confused. "Where'd she go?" a dirty and rather stringy man asked. One of his fellows, a tall and dark-haired man wearing a pink shawl, she noticed, looked about suspiciously. His eyes scanned the grounds as he prowled, stopping horribly close to where Sam stood leaning against the tree, camouflaged but not quite safe. His eyes now searched the trees, even glancing to the exact location where Sam was.

She flinched just for an instant and the man seemed to notice as his eyes fixed on the trunk. She held her breath, feeling her heart hammer both of fear and thrill. He leaned a bit closer. His grey-blue eyes looming dangerously, like a hungry animal. Samara stared transfixed into her hunter's eyes, not daring to move. She silently prayed he could avert his scrutinizing gaze elsewhere.

"She must've hid somewhere else. Scabior?" the other man implied and the man with the pink shawl looked the other way. Sam edged as quietly as she could away from the man, then slipped and fell face-down to the ground and quickly scrambled to her feet, sprinting away again.

The tall and dark man whipped about and saw for a brief moment a blurred silhouette of a person run, the spell around her not changing quickly enough to completely camouflage her. She kept as quiet as she could though, hoping the snatchers would have a much harder time tracking her down. The hunt went on for several minutes after this, thought Sam was confident the snatchers were tiring and that her spell was complicating her visibility. She didn't stop, even though she was becoming too tired to run anymore, she kept on until she felt she was safe out of reach.

Samara collapsed to the forest floor, panting and heaving for breath, yet at the same time quite pleased with the pursuit. A few minutes passed as she regained enough strength to put up wards and protective charms, then rising her tent and magically ordered her necessary belongings out of the backpack, which obediently went to their designed spots. Sam crept into her bed, drawing the covers over her nose and thought of the day. An innocent trip through a new forest had almost cost Samara her freedom as she had run into the Snatchers, who had stopped her and asked for her name, searching her suspiciously. She did, seeing she was not muggleborn or on the run. They had not found her name on the list, but they still quite suspicious as to why she was out in the forest alone and had asked her different questions which would raise further suspicion, and before she knew it, they were coming for her.

She thought further to when she had stood by the tree trunk in disguise and seen one of the hunters straight in the eyes, barely two feet away. There was something different with that man, Scabior if she recalled correctly. Though the dangerous and hungry look he had in his eyes as he searched for her hiding spot, Sam couldn't help but to find the man quite attractive and ambitious, if not extremely dodgy considering his choice of career. But that was the way Sam liked things, thrilling and dangerous although she could never dream of associating with the lot, she was simply intrigued and fascinated by their rather risky lifestyle, something she appreciated and it flavored the usually boring everyday life.

Sam had faced many dangers and life threatening situations, dealt with dragons and dark wizards, spells that could kill in the learning process and so on. There was little that frightened Sam these days, with the exception of he-who-must-not-be-named himself, a warlock she did not want to face at any time or place. Others could deal with him, like the boy who lived. Sam could handle the rest without much trouble.

"Scabior…" she tasted the name, liking the sound of it and remembering his distinct features this made him stand out from the rest of the Snatchers she had encountered. He was older than her, no doubt, with long brown tangled hair and dark red streaks pulled back in a low ponytail, strands sticking out uncontrollably, shabby clothes that could have been replaced ages ago. And what was up with the pink scarf? Sam thought frowning, particularly hateful of the colour on men.  
His face was a bit scarred, like the rest of them. Many years in Azkaban would do that to its prisoners as the dementors would suck out all the happiness and hope, leaving a world of misery and apathy, falsifying the beliefs they were cold, alone and eventually, dead. Sam almost pitied the Azkaban prisoners, thinking it a bit too much to have such creatures guard the prisoners and turn them mad during prolonged stay. But she brushed the thought away; however, knowing full and well death eaters had inflicted serious harm on the general population and not merely in the world of wizards and therefore deserved to be sent to Azkaban. She decided to sleep off her sore and tired muscles, hoping for a better day tomorrow.

* * *

Remember to tell me what you think :) Pardon wrong spells, or bad grammar.


	2. Ballowanker

Aight! Chapter 2 is here! Please enjoy, and excuse any cultural or magical errors that might be evident in this chapter.

Just a few notes: I have no idea when I will update next, but please be patient and more snatchy-ness will come!

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, but Samara is mine!

* * *

Chapter 2

The sun rose crisply in the horizon and sent arrows of sunlight through the thick trees. Birds chirped vigorously and fluttered around Sam's camp, completely unaware of the wards and didn't quite understand why they suddenly wanted to fly around that particular spot.

Sam stirred and lifted herself slowly to a sitting position. She ought to be more careful, was the first thought which came to mind as she heard rustling outside her tent. Carefully tip-toeing to the front flap and peering through a tiny slit, she looked outside to the brightening woods.

There was no one there.

A very confused squirrel, however, darted back and forth along the barrier wall, clutching a nut tightly to its chest and had every intention of getting through, but was simply too perplexed by the half saggy feeling of being held back, simply wishing to go to his nut collection elsewhere. Sam smiled by this and pointed to the barrier, opening a hole and the squirrel immediately bolted out of sight and Sam closed the gap, smiling to herself. It was a fine day, she noticed. The sun shone warmly on her skin and a particular comfortable breeze whipped her hair. "Training," she declared with a smile.

The world looked quite different in Sam's eyes. This was not such a strange thing as she was currently hanging up-side-down by her left foot from a rope thrown over a thick branch and tied to a nearby tree. She whipped about playfully, twisting and turning about the rope and spinning as she shot spell after spell, summoning loose objects to zoom her way only to be blasted or thrown aside by her counter-spells. Sam dropped to the ground and spun again in a skilfully well trained dance of flexibility and hand waving.

Why bother with such old-fashioned spell casting when she no longer were in possession of a wand, but rather a peculiar crafted ring which gave her greater freedom and more flexible methods in minds of fight and defence. Sam had put much into this particular kind of training, having detoured all the way to Asia and met a few wizards who not only had put their minds into magic, but also martial arts. It had not been easy to persuade the monks to teach a woman, as reluctant they were to the opposite sex, but had been kind enough to let her observe for a period of time. Samara, however, had wanted to _learn_ how to perform with such grace and beauty. An idea had come to mind and she had returned to Europe, gone undercover in the muggle-world and attended different martial sports, hired a personal trainer when she felt things progressed too slowly. Sam was very good and had even raised a few impressed eyebrows. The memory gleamed happily as she recalled the many training sessions, and how well she had performed. Leaving for the wilds again, another detour as she headed back to England, Sam had begun experimenting and combined the two fighting styles, very much like the monks, although not performing quite as beautifully. She was still working on it.

There was a loud bang as a flying rock was blasted to pieces. The sweat made Sam's hair glisten to the skin and she felt rather content with today's private practice, although she much preferred to have living targets returning the gestures just as willingly. She grinned as she recalled her encounter with the Snatchers the other day which was a particular fun moment of chasing, and nearly, snatching.

Samara knew of a river close to the campsite, and thought of having a nice, refreshing bath, even though it was late autumn. "Maybe I should move as well," she said to no one in particular. "Ah, why the heck not?" Sam waved her hand at the tent, her bag gaping wide and the items began packing themselves neatly together and enter the bag, furniture shrank and became impossibly small, and the tent was last to go. She picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder, heading towards the river.

Sam kept a close eye on her surroundings and an even closer lookout for any suspicious movements. The river was clear and running strong still. She set up a warding circle around a specific pool, making the area soundproof and shielding its contents for any living. The surrounding area was alarmingly open and Sam felt foolish for placing her need for personal hygiene in front of her safety. 'Just a quick dip will do nicely. I need it anyway,' she thought and smelled herself, and wished she had not.

While the clothes washed themselves downtreams, Samara sat with a towel around her body and studied a spellbook while waiting for her clothes to finish.

The sun was dipping low in the horizon, but Sam didn't mind too much as she had several luminous spells to keep her safe and seeing throughout the night. The spot by the river had proven a quiet sanctuary almost the entire day, but the young sorceress did not feel hard-pressed to move on. Her clothes waved around by themselves and occationally ventured to Samara for an inspection. When they felt dry, Sam dressed, packed her things and dispelled one barrier after the other.

"'ello, beautiful," a voice teased dangerously, and Sam stopped her movements instantly. That man, the snatcher from the other day, was standing right in front of her, his wand in his hand, waving it lightly around as in a quiet warning. The snatcher was not alone. A man towered in Scabior's shadow, his teeth pointy and eyes gleaming with delight. The others were spreading out around Sam to seal off the exits.

Thoughts raced through Sam's mind, a way out and how they had managed to sneak up to the encampment without her noticing. "Oh, ballowankers!" she cursed.

Sam apparated in an instant. The snatchers, too slow to catch her drift, fell behind, except for the infamous Scabior whom had just in time grabbed a hold of her sleeve and went along with her. The world was a blur, but only for an instant as the next moment they crashed to the ground. Sam wasted no time getting to her feet and bolted far away from the confused snatcher. He set after her in seconds, wand feverishly sending one spell after the other. Sam dodged and zigzagged between the trees. They had not apparated far as she heard the angry shouts of Scabior's henchmen. The forest was growing thicker the further she ran, and the twigs and bushes more dense and in the way. Sam's advance slowed as she jumped and dodged the plant-life that became apparent around her. The she slipped and a shock went through her body.

Sam had been hit with a stunning spell, and fell frozen to the ground. Scabior was towering over her limp form in seconds, panting and heaving in exhaustion. A grin spread across his lips, pleased he had finally caught his victim after several failed attempts and gave a small laugh as if it had been a game where he had turned out the victor. He could hear his comrades shouting from behind, closing in. Scabior looked back to Sam, a thought crossed his mind as his previous encounters had left him with a question: 'Where is 'er wand?' He bent down and searched her hands, her pockets and the surrounding ground. Nothing.

'Odd' he thought confused, but noticed a red glow coming from a ring on her left middle finger. He lifted the hand and stared at the ring which had begun to glow fiercer. A split second went by, and Sam jerked awake and apparated automatically, Scabior still held on to her wrist and disapparated with her.

The world blurred and twisted and turned strangely. Sam had fully regained her motion, launched several fists towards Scabior who stubbornly held on to her, and did his best to ward of the angry attacks. Apparating was a dizzying experience in itself and it did not relinquish as they spun about trying to fight the other off.

When Scabior couldn't effectually stop her thrashing arms, he twisted the arm around and forced her arm around herself and tried to hold her in place. Sam, having his arm around her neck, bit into it as hard as she could, blood filling her mouth as she had bit through his skin. The snatcher barely noticed, but jerked as they had arrived at the destined location, and fell to the ground. Scabior lost his grip on Sam who instantly went on all fours and tried to rise.

He grabbed her leg and dragged her back, making her fall face down. There was a stabbing sensation in her chest, but not so resilient she ceased fighting and ignored the dull growing pain. She twisted about and kicked with her free leg which connected with his face and heard the loud popping of a nose breaking.  
Scabiour cursed, blood trickled from his nose which now was localized awkwardly. She kicked again but missed and jerked her other leg which came free and finally managed to scramble to her feet.

Now she was afraid, and a strange sensation filled her as she felt weaker and more drained prior to the apparition. She coughed and found it hard to breathe. Looking down, she saw her hands stained with blood, fresh blood, tasting it in her mouth, and to her outmost horror, oozing around a piece of wood which had pierced one of her lungs. Her knees buckled and she fell, gasping for air and writhing in pain.

A few moments later, Scabior was beside her, his nose broken and bleeding. But he did not do anything. Sam didn't notice the snatcher standing and watching her almost pitying, and she grasped the piece of wood, trying to pull it out without much success. Her life was ebbing out, she knew, and she would die unless helped. She went for it again, gritting her teeth as the pain soared and pulsated throughout her body, but she simply did not have the strength to pull it out.

Then something unexpected happened. Her pursuer had bent down beside her and had put his hand on the stake, the other hand restraining her torso, and pulled hard. The pain intensified and Sam felt like she was being stabbed yet again and screamed as much as her one functioning lung allowed her.

A few gasps, and she did not think much of what just had happened, she muttered an incantation placing a hand above her wound. The ring flared bright blue and Sam felt the skin hurriedly sow itself together and heal. However, there was no strength left in her and the last spell and drained her completely. Eyes closed to blackness and passed out.

Scabior watched her as she passed out cold. 'Is she dead?' he wondered and checked her pulse on the neck. Her heart was still beating, he noticed, and judging from the last spell, she would live. 'That was unexpected,' Scabior thought bemused. Never had a chase turned out this bloody as most people they pursued would surrender after a while, apparate out of sight or would be brought in for hearing after being stunned. This one had almost died from an accident, which in reality was _his_ fault.

He recalled how he had grabbed her leg and dragged her out of balance and made her fall. Then he had helped her, to top it off, by pulling the stake out of her chest. As he had watched her writhing form and petite attempts to pull it out, Scabior couldn't help but to admire her strong will to live spite her recklessness, as he had observed while chasing her the first time and she on several occasions had exposed herself or cast silly spells on his men just for the gist.

She really wanted to live. And she had broken _his_ nose. That was the first time he had gotten hurt during a hunt. A smile crept over his blood-stained lips and shook his head heartily, though quickly regretting he did so as his nose protest wildly, shooting him with a sharp pain. He would have to get it fixed, but Scabior was no good with such spells and the few he had learnt, he had forgotten in his time in Azkaban. A grim expression crossed his face and he looked to the passed out woman on the ground. Maybe she could fix his nose, it struck him.  
Scabior checked the premises and realized he had absolutely no idea where they were.

There was nothing but pine trees stretching in every direction, and although he could apparate back to headquarters or any other place for the matter, she could not and he did not like a fruitless hunt. He gave a loud sigh and thought of setting up camp, first warding the place. His eyes shot to the backpack which lay discarded by the apparate drop-site and walked over and opened it. Eyes popped nearly out of their sockets as he saw the enormous space and its contents inside. He swore the woman had an entire house stored in there.

Samara awoke with a groan, head and chest throbbing in pain, sore and bruised all over. She was in her bed which made her sit up in alarm, almost believing she had dreamt the entire incident about her apparating with the snatcher. It was her tent, but no snatcher to be seen. A jingle caught her attention and she noticed a thin silver chain wrapped around her wrists. She snorted at the feeble attempt to restrain her and thought of using her ring, her eyes wandering to her left middle finger. Her smile evaporated quickly as it was not there. He had found out.

Sam cursed in her mind, throwing herself back down and searched for a solution. If her ring only had reacted sooner after she had been stunned, Sam wouldn't be trapped in her own tent by a snatcher, nor bound or ringless. The ring was her wand, a neat trick she had picked up during her travels. But it worked as much more than just a wand. Sam had imprinted it to apparate whenever she was paralyzed by a spell, therefore sending her to a safe location. But the Snatcher had held onto her when she had snapped out of the spell, and apparated with him, ending up in a different forest, gotten herself almost killed and was now captured… in her own tent. She groaned again and heard rustling from outside.

The front flap was pulled aside and Scabior stepped in holding a knife and two skinned animals Sam recognized as rabbits, which he put on the wooden table. "'ello there, love. Slept well?" he smiled rather slyly, trying not to wince from his nose which still was oddly bent to the side. Sam suppressed a snicker upon seeing his face, and stared in return.

"A few simple rules ought to enlighten you a bit." He stabbed the knife into the table. "No running off. You can't anyways cause I've put a spell around camp which preven's you from leaving and that chain preven's you from leaving the tent, unless I say so," he stood next to her, peering down. "You'll do what I say without any complaints. And if you'r in need of private business, you tell me," he continued, putting a thumb to his chest. Then he lifted a finger and pointed with a scowl on his nose. "And I'll let you have the ring back for one purpose only: fix my nose."

At this, Sam had to bite her lips not to smile or roar with laughter. Although she feared the amusement was evident in her eyes. Scabior peered dangerously and lifted a hand, showing the ring between his fingers. "I'm warning you, girl. If you try anything funny, I'll make sure it's your nose that's broken, and a few ribs just to remind you how hard it is to _breathe_. Understood?" Sam nodded gravely, the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, but she hid it well.

Scabior took her left hand and slipped the ring back on, still holding a firm grip of her wrist, yet not so tight she could not move. Her eyes looked into his, unsure if she should tell him it would hurt. "Brace yourself," she muttered and said "_episkey_" and a crack came from the nose which now was repaired. Scabior winced; still holding on and quickly in one swift movement removed the ring. He rubbed his nose, testing it and found it just the way it used to be. "So… My face pretty again?" he shot her a questioning look, not looking the least angry or contrite from the precious events.

Samara bobbed her head strangely, not quite sure what to make of that last question. "Anyways. I'll be keeping this safely tucke'rd away. You'll stay there, and I will bring you back to receive judgement from the ministry since you had the nerve to oppose us, Sa-ma-ra." At this, he closed the flap behind him, leaving Samara alone in the dark tent. "Ballowanker…" she frowned and tested the chain again. It nearly cut into her skin when she applied too much force and abandoned it at that. 'I have to get my ring back. But how?' she thought and began plotting.

* * *

And remember: Reviews is magical inspirational boost! :P


End file.
